


Swim Through The Sand

by geckoholic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy Scares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Skye allows herself another two minutes, watching the heart rate on the monitor on her wrist dwindle down enough that she deems it save to go back to the van. With shaking hands, she picks up the broken test and throws it into the trash.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swim Through The Sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



> I came across her prompt for a Skye/Trip post-Puerto Rico pregnancy scare on a meme I held, and... I don't even know what happened here? Stuff like that is usually not my thing at all. But. Uhm. It resonated? Also, once more I broke the limit I'm setting myself for things I'll still call flashfic. Keeping things short, traditionally not something I'm good at... XD 
> 
> Beta-read by andibeth82, thank you! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Cycles" by Dikta.

Skye does the test at a gas station, during the first mission she's allowed to go on after Puerto Rico. She couldn’t bring herself to do it at the base, or on the bus. That'd be weird, somehow.

Bobbi and May are both waiting for her in the van, outside, her teachers and her guards at the same time, so she's got to be quick. She randomly throws a few bags of snack food and some soda bottles into her basket, then sneaks off to the pharmacy aisle and grabs the first pregnancy test she can find. When the cashier – woman in her fifties, buzz cut, sweaty plaid shirt – throws her a sympathetic smile, Skye glances away.

She sits on the closed toilet lid, watches two bright blue lines appear. She stares at the test in abject horror. _No._ No, this can't be right. This can't be happening. Not to her, not now and not...

_Trip._

 

***

 

The first time Skye talked to anyone about Trip, it was joking with Simmons about how he's been busy making eyes at the female half of their resident geek squad. Simmons actually gasped, she was so unaware. It was cute. Skye went right on teasing her, didn't think they'd see much more of him, either way, so there'd been no harm in having a little fun. 

As it turns out, she was wrong about quite a few things, back then. And several of them turned around to bite her in the ass.

 

***

 

It's been six weeks. Four of them, Syke spent in the infirmary, getting stuck with needles and tested and and prodded and interviewed. She's not angry at Coulson or May, or Simmons or Fitz. She wanted to be checked out head to toe, wanted to get to know everything she possibly could about her... _condition_. To think about that, pull it apart and try to puzzle it back together, was easier than to think about him.

She's been cleared for active duty, still a mystery wrapped inside an enigma, but one that has been declared nonthreatening. She's got a good grip on her abilities – which means she doesn't send objects flying every time her heart rate spikes anymore, doesn't make the room shake underneath her feet when she's sad or angry or upset. She had even managed to keep a lid on it when she realized that she hadn't gotten her period since before they found the city.

Now, she sends the test across the room, and it breaks in two as it hits the wall and clatters down to the dirty tiles, but she can't find it in herself to be worried about that, too. Her head is filled with terror caused by those obnoxious blue lines. There's no room for anything else.

Skye allows herself another two minutes, watching the heart rate on the monitor on her wrist dwindle down enough that she deems it save to go back to the van. With shaking hands, she picks up the broken test and throws it into the trash.

 

***

 

He snuck up on her, is what he did. The guy with the legacy everyone made googly eyes at and the tools that had Coulson swooning, the bright smile and the odd jokes. She knew he'd received much the same training as Ward did, but he carried it differently. Trip could be loud if he wanted to, sure, and he frequently was, but the moments she remembers most from those first few weeks are the calmer ones. He stood out to her when he tried to blend into the background, left an impression during late night conversations that hinted at a quiet intelligence he wore close to his chest. 

He never went in big with her, either. He began hovering near her after a while – not a suggestion or a demand, but an offer. And she took it. She took it the instance she realized it was, indeed, being offered. They didn't have many firsts, the two of them together, because of that. When it did happen, it happened all at once. 

 

***

 

May gives her a _look_ when she climbs into the back of the van, eyes downward, hands still sweaty. She cowers down, wipes them on her jeans. Stops mid-move, afraid May will be able to read into her body language and ask her what's wrong.

She can't lie now. She can't tell her the truth.

May's gaze lingers on her for another endless couple of seconds before she turns to address Bobbi, discuss directions. It's all Skye can do not to let out an audible sigh of relief.

Another hour until they reach the tech lab they're supposed to infiltrate, and it goes smoothly. Skye's got herself under control again, gives off nothing more than small, well-aimed wave at some of the tech to render it unusable, earns herself a thumb's up from Bobbi and a silent, approving nod from May as they beat it out of there.

She may be a monster, a thing, a creature, but at least she's still useful.

 

***

 

They never told anyone, not outright, but they weren't sneaky enough to keep it secret within a base full of spies. Didn't try to be, either. And no one made a big deal of it, themselves included. It was what it was – quiet comfort in a world that had come off kilter for both of them, the ground still shaking beneath their feet in the aftermath. 

May took her aside about two weeks in, during training. She likes doling out live lessons while sweaty and beating up sandbags, Skye learned that early on, found she doesn't mind it done that way. Less awkward staring, breaks in conversation conveniently covered up by pretending to be out of breath, and an outlet immediately available if the topic's unpleasant. 

She hadn't asked if they were together. No such nonsense with May, asking questions when she'd already figured out the answer. All she'd said was, _remember what we are, and think long and hard on whether you want to keep something you couldn't stand losing_. 

At the time, Skye had shrugged and landed another right hook to the sandbag May was holding for her. She'd never been the type to dwell about what if's, had learned to exist in the moment and roll with the punches. She thought she was prepared for anything. 

 

***

 

She lies awake that night – not a new thing, she spends more time staring at the ceiling these past few weeks than she does asleep – a tentative hand placed on her belly.

Sometime soon, she will have to make a decision. She's going to have to tell people, deal with this, figure out what she wants to do. The thought that there's a person in there, a tiny teacup human that could have her eyes and Trip's smile or the other way around, it scares her beyond measure. But at the same time it puts her mind at ease like nothing else has been able to since the city.

Skye's never met Trip's family. There wasn't time. They had other things to deal with. She imagines showing up at their doorstep, telling them that Trip maybe gone but there's something of him left. _Someone._

Then she imagines telling them the other half of what made up that child is her. Orphan with an estranged, mad scientist for a father, alien DNA in her veins and a mysterious power she can't even fully grasp.

She pulls her hand away like her own skin has suddenly become toxic. Turning onto her side, she bites her lip so hard she tastes blood. Tears well up in her eyes, and she allows them to fall.

 

***

 

Whether he was just a light sleeper, or not used to sleeping next to someone, Trip used to be up before her whenever he stayed the night in her quarter. He'd lay there to grin down at her when she blinked awake, or he'd sit on the foot of the bed fiddling with something he surely wasn't even supposed to have. 

The day before everything went to shit, the last time they'd been together, it was her who woke first. There was no particular reason for that; in hindsight it'd be easy to imagine she'd had a precognition, knew what was coming, but that wouldn't be the truth. 

It did, however, mean she got to watch him sleep for once. He was quiet, still, didn't move much or breathe hard. She'd found that fitting – much of an entertainer as he could be, that wasn't really him. 

Skye didn't dare move, reluctant to give up on observing him, but of course it didn't last. Minutes later, he'd nuzzled his pillow, yawned, and peered at her from tired eyes, a smile playing at his lips as he leaned in to kiss her good morning. 

That's how she wants to remember him, Skye decides. That's the image she'll hold on to. 

 

***

 

The sole upside to being cocooned in stone and turning into some strange, half-alien creature is that no one questions her bad moods. She doesn’t have to play pretend. When she trains in solitude until 3 AM or spends an entire flight silently staring into the sky, everyone seems to assume she’s just dealing with her new state of being, probably also grieving for someone who wasn’t quite her boyfriend but who she did love in some way.

Everyone does. Except for Simmons.

Skye’s sitting vigil over an untouched bowl of cereal on one of the rare quiet mornings, nothing to do but administrative work and catching up on the reports Coulson still makes them write. Simmons sits down opposite to her, looks at her imploringly, head slightly cooked.

“You miss him,” she says, and it’s not a question.

Gaze pinned to hear soggy cornflakes, Skye keeps silent. If it’s not a question, then it doesn’t require an answer.

“You can talk to me, you know, if you want,” Simmons marches on, despite the lack of a captive audience. “I’m a good listener; I have that on good authority.”

Skye sighs. She’s known Simmons long enough to realize that this conversation will not be shortened by ignoring her. “And what’s the point of that? A nice, intense heart to heart won’t change anything.”

“Maybe not,” Simmons concedes, “but it might make you feel better.”

The mistake Skye’s making, right then, is to look up. She’s instantly met with Simmons’s concerned, warm expression, crowned by the sad smile that made its first appearance after Fitz got hurt and never really went away again. You want to be honest to that face, tell it all your secrets. It’s pavlovian or some shit. A reflex.

“I…” Syke starts, but can’t quite bring herself to say the words. She gazes around to make sure no one else is in earshot, leans in so she can whisper. “I’m overdue. Made a test a few days ago, at a gas station and it was positive. I’m a monster, a thing, something inhuman, and I think I’m pregnant. Tell me, what could you possibly say to make that okay?”

Simmons’s eyes go wide in shock, but she catches herself quickly. She reaches out to touch Skye’s arm, but stops herself midair, expression turning solemn. “I can’t _say_ anything. But I can help you make sure. I can run some tests. And then we can figure out what to do, together.” That sad smile again, peppered with a dose of sincerity that makes Skye want to cry or scream, or maybe both.

But she follows wordlessly when Simmons does touch her arm again to make her stand, guides her towards the lab with one hand hovering reassuringly at the small of her back like a tether.

 

***

 

The first night, after they'd left the city, made a run for it while the sky still crumbled over their heads, Bobbi came to sit with her. She had been the last person Skye'd expected – they nodded at each other politely when they crossed paths around the base, had each other's backs in the field, but hadn't yet found much to talk about off-mission. 

Now she sat on the cot Skye was occupying in the lab, still attached to various devices that recorded things she didn't understand, hadn't tried to keep track of. Her hands had curled around the thin mattress, and she'd looked at her feet. 

_I'd tell you that it'll get easier_ , she had said, _that having someone die on you out there, someone you love, is the kind of pain you'll get used to. It's not. But you'll get through it._

Skye had turned towards the wall in lieu of a reply, showed Bobbi her back. 

Bobbi didn't leave. She slid off the cot and sat down on the ground next to it, stayed there until Skye's body eventually gave in to exhaustion and she fell asleep, and she was still there when Skye woke some hours later. 

 

***

 

Simmons blabbers on as she works, explains every little thing she does despite the fact that Skye doesn't understand half of it. She's drawn blood and made her pee, is testing both. Taking the long road, she says, to avoid false positives. While she's whirling around the lab, Syke is left to pressing a medical swap to her skin to stop the blood flow from the needle. She's staring at the red splotches that seep through the cotton, wondering about the secrets it holds, the changes it's made to her.

"Hmm," Simmons says, and Syke jerks her head up, torn out of her thoughts.

"Is that a good _hmm_ or a bad one?" she asks, her mind going blank in effort not to allow a surge of false hope.

"For now it's just a _hmm_ ," Simmons replies, turning around. She gestures at a metal chair, with a back that can be turned downwards for examinations. "Lie down."

Skye does as she's told, trains her gaze to a blinking device across the room because it's easier than looking Simmons in the eye right now, and she knows Simmons will understand that. She bites her lip when Simmons draws up her shirt and squirts something cold onto her stomach, but manages not to flinch.

"Now, you see," Simmons says," I'm not a medical doctor – "

"As you keep pointing out."

"Yes. Right." Skye still can't look at Simmons's face, but there's an amused tint to her voice -- well-trodded banter, melancholic now, but familiar. "Anyway, I've got no training for this, but I can't see anything that points at a, uhh." She makes a hand gesture that Skye can only see out of the corner of her eye, and Skye's stupidly grateful the words _baby_ or _embryo_ or whatever don't get spoken out loud. "The blood work and the test didn't show anything either. I think the test you made didn't, well. Know what to make of your new physiology and opted for 'if in doubt, positive', or something."

Gingerly touching the side of her stomach, Syke closes her eyes, just to open them again and finally look at Simmons head on. "So I'm not..."

"I'd need to consult with a gynecologist who can take my results and proof them, to be a hundred percent. But even so, I'm reasonably sure. You're not pregnant." Simmons smiles as she says that, wiping Skye's skin clean of the liquid, but it's laced with uncertainty, her eyes flicking down. "Congratulations?"

And this is good news. Skye's glad. She’d never thought about whether she wanted children in the first place, and this would have been the worse possible time and the worst possible situation for a pregnancy. She doesn't even know what she _is_ , anymore. But there's something about this that let her hang on, kept her from having to say goodbye, start forgetting him enough to let her move on, and now it's gone.

She doesn't realize she's crying until Simmons is bending down, pulling her into a hug, and her tears are wetting the cloth of Simmons’ shirt. She's not sure if it's relief or loss or a little bit of both, but she can figure that out later. For now, she simply holds on.


End file.
